LeUyen Pham's picture book Outside, Inside addresses the COVID-19 pandemic with sensitivity and compassion for young readers. BookPage spoke with Pham, a 2020 Caldecott Honor recipient, about the origins of her project, which began as a series of sketches during the early days of quarantining at home, as well as the real-life inspirations behind the feline guide who appears on every page of her book.

Your author’s note describes how you began “sketching moments from each day” during the early days of quarantine. When did you realize that your sketches could become a book?
I had to find a way to make sense of the sudden shift of the world, and I began collecting these thoughts in my head. They sort of spilled out on paper that way. I didn’t know exactly what it was that was happening, but after creating so many picture books, my mind automatically molds thoughts into that format. Still, I don’t think I was seeing the forest from the trees yet.

Out of sheer desperation, I called my editor and told her that I had something going on in my head. I didn’t know what it was—it didn’t have a form, it was just a series of disconnected dots. I remember her explaining very carefully to me that there was a difference between communicating strong feelings and telling a strong story. She wanted me to go for it some more. I called my agent, Holly McGhee, as well, and she encouraged me to just keep putting things down, that eventually the dots would connect, that something inside had to come out and I should just let it.

I think the moment for me when I suddenly saw it as a book was when I started binding the pictures together with words. Then it became more clear to me.

“We were always writing it from the perspective of the future, struggling to make sense of this time. The wild part is that we were making sense of it while we were going through it.”

Outside, Inside balances the feelings of sorrow, fear and loss many people have felt during the pandemic with unexpected silver linings, such as moments of connection and community. Was this a difficult balance for you to achieve?
It was as difficult to achieve on paper as it is to achieve in real life. Early on, we understood that this pandemic was going to affect different people in different ways, that while for some people it would require an adjustment of working from home and balancing your family’s life with your own work, for others the change was dramatic and suddenly put their livelihoods at stake. Even to say the words “silver lining” was insulting to a large portion of the population and indicative of the privilege of the person saying it. How do you allow for moments of goodness in such dark times?

In the end, I think we were able to get away with it because the book is a documentary of sorts. It’s a collection of moments happening in real time. I recorded what I saw at the time, without fully understanding how amazing those chalk drawings and window signs and neighborhood shopping trips were. I was overwhelmed by how much community I witnessed during a time in which we were essentially ordered to stay away from communities.

When I look at the book now, there’s a rhythmic pattern in its fluctuation between sorrow and connection. I'm chalking that up to my brain going into automatic children’s book mode, my editor’s gentle guidance, my agent’s encouragement and some universal wave we were all riding. We were all looking for that balance. Drawing it into pictures just clarified it all.

One spread in the book depicts scenes in hospitals and medical facilities. Was this a difficult spread for you to illustrate? How did you decide on all of the different scenes it includes?
This was one of the most difficult spreads I’ve ever illustrated. I simply could not process what these amazing health care workers were facing in those early days, when little was understood of the virus, supplies were short and emergency workers were finding workarounds with duct tape and plastic wrap.

These groups of frontline workers absolutely blow me away. What they were and are subjected to on a daily basis, at huge risk to their own lives, all in assistance of others, is simply unfathomable to the average human. I watched news stories of nurses, doctors, EMTs and even janitors and cleaners witnessing firsthand what this virus could do, but finding humanity in these desperate situations and giving hope, kindness and connection to those suffering from a virus that isolates you at the end of life. So many interviewees likened the situation to a war zone, and I could understand why. When people complain about losing their freedoms by being forced to wear masks, I wish they would look at the cost of rejecting that minor act, at the undeniable impact on these workers and their patients who are at the tail end of that decision.

I cried all the way through drawing this spread. It is truly the one scene in the book that I hope people will spend time on. All the images are based on real people and real situations. There is a scene depicting a woman in a hospital room with nurses coming in with a birthday cupcake for her, which is based on the real story of a woman who turned 82, I think, on her third day in the ICU. She died the next day, and the nurses were her stand-in for family. There is an image of doctors and nurses who are exhausted and suiting up like they’re entering a war, an image of a nurse staring with dismay at a ventilator that she hopes will work and an image of a man holding up a sign outside the hospital, projecting his love and gratitude to the nurses and doctors who saved his wife’s life. I don’t remember how I chose the images. I just remember that there were too many to share.

“I didn’t have to paint evidence of love, I simply had to record it. That’s the best way I can explain it.”

I noticed that you’ve chosen to write the book in the past tense. Can you talk about that choice?
You know, no one has asked me that question before, and I had to think about it. Which means, of course, that the idea to write in past tense was a foregone conclusion at the time the book was made. I don’t think anyone on my publishing team even questioned that the book could be written any other way. What does that say about all of our mindsets at the time?

I truly believed that by the time of the book’s publication, this would all be past us. Remember, the book was made over a six-week period of time in June and July. I remember my editor stressing its value beyond this time frame—that we had to find lessons that were timeless, stories that went beyond the current situation, to make it worthy of being a book. I was always writing it from the perspective of the future, struggling to make sense of this time. The wild part is that we were making sense of it while we were going through it. Trying to wrap my head around that is like listening to Mrs. Who explain to Meg what a tesseract is in A Wrinkle in Time.

We’re still in the middle of this, but eventually our world will catch up to the past tense of the book.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of Outside, Inside.

Can you talk about some of the ways you used color in these illustrations?
I used color to communicate ideas that simply couldn’t be put into words. I think the first two spreads are the best representation of this. The opening spread reveals a busy and colorful crowded street scene, with bright saturated colors and lots of reds and yellows. The next spread shows the world shut down, and the imposing grays and lack of colors illustrate that. From that point on, the book is painted in muted colors and grays. I wanted that to be felt immediately, that shift in color as we shifted to this new reality. The book gradually moves back toward color, as the world grows and signs of spring emerge.

A spread toward the end of the book talks about why we went inside and shows groups of people standing together. Some are in full color, and some are painted in a muted light blue. This is a spread of real people I found articles about at the time. The people who are painted in full color survived the virus. The figures painted in blue did not. The heartbreaking ones are the people in full color who stand in the arms of the people in blue.

And of course, the last spread of the book, the gatefold, opens to full color at last, as spring has finally returned. That’s an image that hasn’t yet come to pass as this book comes out into the world. It’s still a hope, as it was when I painted it this past year.

I love the character of the black cat who is featured in every illustration, including the cover, the endpapers and the title page. Do you have a cat? Was this cat part of the book from its inception? Can you talk about the role that the cat plays in the book?
I do have a cat. Her name is Sardine, and she’s a lovely striped tabby, not the sleek elegant cat of this book. I considered using Sardine as a model, but her colors are rather muted and would have made her hard to find in the grey images. I needed a little slip of a shadow, a figure who could weave in and out of the images without calling too much attention to itself but could be clearly seen.

The cat was always meant to be part of this book. She wasn’t in any of my original sketches, but I think her presence was felt even early on, before I’d turned it into a book. I knew I needed to have a narrator of sorts, a figure that children could enter the book with, a figure that couldn’t be human and could be relatable. At first I thought the animal should be a dog or a bird. But then I realized that of all the pets we have, the cat is the one animal that is allowed to have free rein both inside and outside. She was the perfect animal to follow.

I wanted her in the story because I needed there to be a stable presence on each page, someone that kids could follow through the scenarios with, could look for in some of the heavier images, a reliable force on the page. There’s something, even for adults, that is very reassuring about seeing this little creature on each page. It is, after all, a children’s book. It’s meant to comfort, to guide, to make you smile. That’s the job of this little cat.

“During these dark moments, I also saw evidence of more humanity than I ever suggested in my books.”

I want to ask about one more statement from your author’s note. You write, “My career has been devoted to drawing the world as I would like it to be, my version of a happy world. This is the first time that I have catalogued the world as it is.” How would you describe what it looks like and how it feels when you draw “the world as [you] would like it to be” versus “the world as it is”?
I’ve always drawn the world as though it exists without prejudice. Every book I’ve ever made, from my earliest picture books to my latest graphic novels, feature diversity and acceptance.

When I was growing up, I didn’t see myself in books very often. Being a person of color, and of mixed race at that, it was hard to identify with most picture and chapter books. I made it a goal for myself early on to reflect as much of the world’s population as I could within the 32 pages of a standard picture book. I chose stories that reflected people and characters caring for one another, which I wanted to see reflected more often in our society. I like to think I create a utopian world where everyone is accepted. When I illustrated God’s Dream by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, he often commented that he had selected me as his illustrator because he loved to see the love in my characters for one another. I guess you’d call it my own little artistic bubble—paint the world as you want it to be, and it will become that way.

It’s fair to say that the real world isn’t always this way. Outside, Inside was the first time I really allowed myself to paint exactly what I saw. The world is filled with injustice and disinformation and much more anger than I’d ever allowed myself to believe. But during these dark moments, I also saw evidence of more humanity than I ever suggested in my books. The human spirit, when put to the test, can be quite amazing. I didn’t have to suggest a utopian society this time, because there were elements of selflessness and graciousness and simple kindness that I witnessed every day. It’s a reminder that perhaps the fantasy we tell ourselves and the reality we choose to live can be one and the same. I didn’t have to paint evidence of love, I simply had to record it. That’s the best way I can explain it.

The book’s back cover is an illustration of a kitchen scene, with a loaf of what looks to be sourdough bread on the table. Did you get into baking your own bread during quarantine? Did you pick up any other new hobbies or ways of spending time?
Who didn’t get into baking during this time? It’s the one thing the rational side of my brain could latch onto and feel like it was accomplishing something. Yes, I make bread now. I haven’t gone so far yet as to make a starter. From what I hear, they’re almost like pets, because you need to devote so much time to feeding them every day. But it’s been nice discovering how pliable my kitchen is.

We also take lots more walks together as a family, just around our neighborhood. I’ve gotten more creative with cooking. We’ve introduced the kids to “The Twilight Zone”; we don’t have our television hooked up to regular broadcasting, so they’ve never really watched TV shows before. I’ve learned to cut hair. But for the most part, I’m sticking to making books.

Photo of LeUyen Pham by Anouk Kluyskens. Illustration from Outside, Inside used with permission of Macmillan Children's Publishing Group.

Peter Sís is an acclaimed author and illustrator who is well known for his picture book biographies, including Starry Messenger, The Tree of Life and The Pilot and the Little Prince. In Nicky & Vera: A Quiet Hero of the Holocaust and the Children He Rescued, he movingly intertwines the lives of Nicholas Winton, a young Englishman who helped arrange train passage for hundreds of Jewish children out of Nazi-occupied Czechoslovakia in the late 1930s, and Vera Diamantova, one of the children Winton saved.

You’ve created a number of picture book biographies. What draws you to this category of nonfiction? How do you approach the creative process differently when you’re working on a nonfiction project versus something fictional?
I have liked biographies ever since I was a child. The explorers, the adventurers, the dreamers. Only later was I drawn to stories of people struggling to advance humanity—Vincent Van Gogh, Marie Curie.

Creating nonfiction requires a lot of research, and it’s sometimes difficult to distribute that throughout the book (for example, Charles Darwin went around the world and then stayed home for 50 years). In my new book, both Nicky and Vera experience a traumatic event and then, again, live their lives peacefully for 50 years. But perhaps that is the rhythm of life; each project, just like poetry, has its own tempo.

Did you consider intertwining Winton’s story with the story of a different child? What made you decide to feature Vera Diamantova in the book?
Vera’s book, Pearls of Childhood, was a surprising source of inspiration for how to tell the story of Nicholas Winton, which I had been thinking about for quite some time. Vera, with her love of life, her family, her country, was a representation of the 669 children Winton saved. She was saved, but her family perished. She was able to meet the man who saved her. I knew it was the way to go.

I think we all know what heroism is—we just have to think about it.

In the book, you describe how Winton did not speak about what he had done during the war because he believed no one would be interested in the story. As you worked on the book, did you gain an understanding of why Winton would have believed such a thing?
It’s difficult to say. In her book, Winton’s daughter Barbara writes that he was that kind of man. He said, “If you can swim and you walk by the river and someone is drowning—of course you save that person. It is your duty.” That is one way to think about what he did. It is also possible that he was devastated that the last train, which carried 250 children, did not make it. Once WWII broke out, there was nothing more to say.

You have said that there is always a “dark, impossible moment in every project,” and that it feels good to solve it. Was there such a moment in the process of creating Nicky & Vera?
Oh, there were plenty of crossroads with this project. At one point, I had Vera’s and Nicky’s lives after the war mirroring each other. There would be a half page of Vera’s house, half page Nicky’s. They both had families, so in this draft, they might walk in the same street next to each other, not knowing what connects them. That was intriguing, but it was for a different book. It was hard to let it go.

Another really dark moment was when I read many books about children and the Holocaust—the darkness and sadness of it all, and thinking about how to mention it in the book. I have to be grateful to Simon Boughton, my editor, for keeping us focused.

Can you talk about how you compose a spread? What drives your initial choices? How do you balance detail, composition and clarity?
I always get one or two images stuck in my head when I start to work on a project. Like Galileo in the court of cardinals in my book Starry Messenger, or the whirling train from Prague to London in Nicky & Vera. This is not necessarily helpful in case you need to shift or reshape the story, because it becomes the unmovable object of sorts. My artistic choices are driven by my ability, my intuition and stubbornness. I wish I could say clarity.

What is your favorite illustration in Nicky & Vera? Why?
I think that coiled train from Prague to London. It is my favorite cobalt blue hue, and the Prague-to-London train was a wishful dream when I was growing up behind the Iron Curtain.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Nicky & Vera.

Nicky & Vera depicts moments of intense horror that are representations of actual historical events. How do you care for yourself when working on a book that depicts such darkness?
This is a very good point. I did not think about this cloud of darkness. I reread Anne Frank and other books on the Shoah. I watched films about Simone Veil and Theresienstadt. Once again, I wondered how and why this could have happened, and that made me appreciate Nicky even more.

This is a story about heroism, about who we call heroes and what heroism really is. What do you believe heroism is? Did working on Nicky & Vera change it?
Yes, it is about heroism in a very human way. I think we all know what heroism is—we just have to think about it. It is solidarity, empathy, kindness—quiet acts in our time of very loud proclamations. It makes me think about times I could have done something and just did not dare to think differently.

Photo of Peter Sís courtesy of Jan Slavík © DOX Centre for Contemporary Art.

Mornings With Monet is the fourth picture book collaboration between children’s author Barb Rosenstock and illustrator Mary GrandPré, all of which have explored real artists and their art. Their book about young Kandinsky, The Noisy Paint Box, received a Caldecott Honor in 2015, while their book about Chagall, Through the Window, received a Sydney Taylor Honor in 2019. Mornings With Monet depicts the impressionist painter Claude Monet at work on his riverboat studio on a bright summer morning.

Whom can we thank for the idea to include a reproduction of Monet’s signature in the title on the book’s cover?

Barb Rosenstock: It wasn’t me. I don’t think to ask those “who did what” questions because picture books are the ultimate team sport. We all work with and around each other’s ideas and opinions for four years, and then we wind up with a book—so I don’t know, but it is perfect.

Mary GrandPré: It was my idea. I like to design the title type while I am in the concept stage of the cover art, and the Monet signature seemed like a good way to bring that feeling of brushstrokes into the cover.

Barb, this is one of many children’s books you’ve written about real figures in history. How do you choose your subjects? What sparked your interest in Monet?

Rosenstock: Most of the time I tend to write biographies backward. There will be a topic I find interesting (in this case, the idea of the work of making art), and I find a person or event whose story can represent that idea. After spending 10 days in Paris, I thought I was writing about the impressionists’ first group exhibit in 1874, and the book wasn’t going to be a biography so much as a “Let’s put on an art show” picture book. But as I researched at the Art Institute of Chicago’s Ryerson Library, the work ethic of the group’s leader, Monet, became more fascinating than the group as a whole.

Typically, picture book authors and illustrators don’t work directly with one another. Have your books together become more collaborative over time?

Rosenstock: Yes, but not in the way people might assume. Except in rare circumstances, Mary and I don’t discuss the specifics of text or art in conversation beyond an initial email like, “Hey, I’m thinking of Monet, are you interested?”

But for me, it has become more collaborative because I believe I have a better understanding of what portions of the text Mary tends to be drawn to visually. I actively try to focus on those in the story as much as possible—color, shape, texture. At Mary’s level of artistic ability, there is no such thing as writing something she can’t draw, but I am always thinking about how to write just enough text, never too much, so that I’m leaving space for her freedom to expand the story.

GrandPré: Barb thoroughly researches the life of each artist she writes about. In sharing that, she provides me with a vast amount of information that is extremely helpful, including details about place and time period, appropriate fashion, details about the artist’s lifestyle, as well as parts of the artist’s family history, the influences of other artists and what may have been going on socially or politically at the time. All the information Barb brings to the table gives me a more solid base to draw from.

Barb, I love the structure you’ve given Mornings With Monet. We spend one morning with Monet as he heads out onto the river to paint and then comes home and inside for breakfast, and you incorporate biographical information into this primary narrative. Did you know right away that you wanted the book to have this structure? If not, how did you get there?

Rosenstock: I wish! It took almost a year to know what I was writing about, and my laptop holds eight or so separate manuscripts to prove it. Once I began focusing on Monet, I kept writing drafts that started in his childhood, which is a typical way to connect a young reader to historical biography. I soon realized that Monet’s childhood would bore children, because it was boring me!

When I asked myself what I thought a young reader would find interesting, the answer was the boat. Why would you paint on a boat? How do you paint on a boat? What happens when you paint on a boat? I went in search of Monet’s relationship to his studio boat, which brought me along on his lifelong love affair with the Seine. Eventually I found an 1898 essay in La Revue Illustrée by Maurice Guillemot. Guillemot stayed with Monet in Giverny, in northern France, and in the essay, he details part of a morning spent with Monet on la bateau atelier, his studio boat. That essay guided my structure. I’m proud of having written a nonfiction picture book that begins and ends in four hours. Yes, it’s work. Yes, it’s magic.

Mary, is it difficult to capture the style of another artist—in this instance, Monet’s soft color palette, impressionist brushstrokes and the precise way he captured light?

GrandPré: Capturing the style of an artist is both challenging and enjoyable. Monet’s work is all about color and light, so my challenge for this book was to bring that same focus to the illustrations. I studied his paintings of the Seine, the fluid strokes, the sparks of color in the shadows, the soft neutrals with bits of underpainting showing through, and all of it was a joy to discover.

Monet has become one of the most well-known and widely reproduced artists in the world. Barb, as you researched the book, what did you learn about Monet as a person or about his art that surprised you?

Rosenstock: Well, first, let’s not make him out to be any kind of saint. One of the reasons I settled on the book’s structure is because spending one morning on Monet’s boat seemed doable compared to addressing his many missteps and flaws in a single picture book. I can make a straightforward case that he was a misogynist, a user of people, an anti-Semite and a glutton, just for starters.

What surprised me was something that readers need to understand about creativity of any kind. Monet, long after he was world famous, was an immensely hard worker who was consistent in his practice, much like a world-class athlete. Talent is overemphasized in our society; most success is due to work.

How did working on this book change the way you see Monet and his art?

GrandPré: I came to appreciate Monet’s art more. I discovered more about his sensitive use of color and the amount of layering that each painting holds. I also came to appreciate Monet’s dedication to truly capturing the light and the water. This had to be a very challenging thing to do, particularly with weather being unpredictable—not to mention painting all those paintings on a small studio boat. That’s commitment and being true to your vision!

Rosenstock: Visiting the impressionist wing of the Art Institute of Chicago has always been a part of my life. I knew since I was a child that these masterworks by Monet, Renoir, Degas, Sisley, Pissarro, Morisot and others were gorgeous. Now I see their individuality—the thousands of brushstrokes, hundreds of color decisions, thoughtful highlights and brooding shadows. I see the time and the work dedicated to the creation. It doesn’t take away from the overall beauty, it adds to it.

What’s something you each love about each other’s work in this book?

GrandPré: I love that Barb is true to the artist’s vision and that she sees the beauty in the creative exploration of the painter. As she takes us through the morning, she sensitively describes colors and how they change with the time of day, from the soft gray violets before the dawn to the warm yellows that break through the fog. I love that she can take a single morning with Monet and give us an entire journey in which we discover the power of light and color, as well as Monet’s steadfast dedication to capturing the ever-changing character of the river.

While Barb’s writing is true to the history of Monet’s life, her understanding of the artist’s inner struggle and their passion to create is what makes her stories so enriching. As an artist, I especially appreciate that part of Barb’s writing.

Rosenstock: Mary’s art always, always brings other levels of thought to the text. She’s one of our great children’s illustrators because her art tells its own story, not just my text’s story. For Mornings With Monet, I confess I was worried. Monet’s style is so familiar that I wondered how Mary would illustrate the book without copying it. But her artistic process informs our understanding of Monet’s process while remaining wholly original. Mary’s extensive visual research, her hints at relationships and the moods of the river are what I love best. And that “magic” spread near the end of the book—it’s truly magic!

Children’s librarian Lydia M. Sigwarth’s first picture book, Dear Librarian, is a warmhearted testament to the power of libraries to change lives. When Sigwarth was a child, her family moved from Colorado to Iowa, where they stayed with friends and relatives but didn’t have a permanent home of their own. During the day, her mother took Sigwarth and her siblings to the public library, where the children’s librarian, Deb Stephenson, not only made them feel welcome but also introduced Sigwarth to the magic of reading.

Dear Librarian was inspired by Sigwarth’s experience of reconnecting with Stephenson many years later during an episode of “This American Life.” Featuring bright, friendly watercolors by Argentine illustrator Romina Galotta, Dear Librarian is sure to become a storytime favorite.

How would you describe your book to someone who doesn’t know your story?
Dear Librarian is a love letter to libraries, librarians and everyone who has inspired a child by giving them a safe space to dream. It’s based on the true story of a difficult time in my childhood, but it’s full of magic and family and celebrates the power of belonging and the little things that make life sweet.

Tell us about Deb Stephenson. When you were young, who was she to you? What impact did she have on you as you grew up and became an adult?
Deb has been a figure of myth throughout my life. I call her “Wonder Woman in a cardigan.” I’ve spent my entire career with a sort of “WWDD” (What would Deb do?) motto guiding me. I always wondered if she would approve of who I became and if she would be proud of me. Within the librarian community, we’re held to very high standards, and one of the reasons I didn’t reach out to her for so long was because I was terrified that Deb would be disappointed in me.

I’ve been working in libraries for half my life. Libraries have always been my home.

What was it like for you to be able to thank someone who’d had such an impact on your life? Have you two stayed in touch?
Anyone who’s listened to the episode of “This American Life” featuring my story knows I shed a lot of happy tears that day. The feeling of being so understood by someone I hadn’t seen in 20 years was affirming and beautiful. I was afraid she wouldn’t remember me—and if she hadn’t, I would have totally understood! Meeting Deb and her reaction being so kind and supportive was more than I could have hoped for. The pandemic has made it hard to meet up in person, but Deb and I have had dinner a few times and stay in touch as much as we can.

Do you remember when you decided to become a children’s librarian? Did it feel like a decision or like an inevitability?
Honestly, I don’t remember a time when my life plan wasn’t to work in a library. (Well, either that or becoming a time-traveling detective/ballerina, but sadly the latter didn't end up being a viable option due to technological limitations.) I started volunteering at my library when I was 15, and I’m now 30, so I’ve been working in libraries for half my life. Libraries have always been my home.

What do you love about being a children’s librarian?
I love talking to library kids. They always have such amazing and unique ideas and thoughts about life. One of my favorite library kid stories is the little guy who very confidently and sincerely asked me for “The After Quill.” After I exhausted all my search capabilities looking for a book by that title, I finally discovered that he was looking for a SEQUEL, or in his words, “The prequel—but AFTER.”

How do your experiences and your story influence your everyday work with children at your library?
In my work, I try to remember that you can never know what battle another person is fighting—and they might not even know they’re fighting a battle at all. As a kid, I didn’t fully understand my family’s situation, and neither do the kids I work with. Since you can’t fully know anyone’s story but your own, I try to approach every family I meet with the same compassion and care I needed at that age.

Why tell your story as a picture book versus something for older readers or even for adults?
From the beginning I wanted Dear Librarian to be a picture book. I turned 6 the year we moved, so my memories are all from a child’s perspective. I’ve always been fascinated by books that talk about complicated subjects from the perspective of a child. In my book, I wanted to talk about something hard and even a bit taboo for kids in a way that they would understand and empathize with.

What was it like to work with the book’s illustrator, Romina Galotta? What is it like for someone to illustrate a piece of your life in a picture book?
Romina is an absolute star. I love her so much and am lucky to have formed a deep friendship with her while we worked on Dear Librarian together. We spent hours talking about my family and my childhood. She cared so deeply about making sure the personality of each member of my family was present on the page and that my siblings and parents were all happy with their representation. I had a blast going back over old family scrapbooks and sent her so many emails full of pictures. Seeing the illustrations take shape was captivating because, while they’re very true to life, they’ve also got Romina’s magic touch.

Do you have plans for more books?
I've got a couple things cooking but nothing to share just yet! I’ve worked with children my entire life, so I’ve been storing up stories for years. Coming from a big family means lots of family lore to pull from as well. I love books that make for fun storytime read alouds, so I’ve got a few of those in the works!

Author photo of Lydia M. Sigwarth courtesy of Krysthol Davis Photography. Childhood photo of Lydia M. Sigwarth courtesy of Lydia M. Sigwarth.

German author-illustrator Torben Kuhlmann is well-known for his acclaimed picture books about intrepid mouse adventurers, which feature his jaw-droppingly imaginative art. When the mouse hero of Einstein misses the big cheese festival, he builds a time machine but accidentally travels 80 years into the past, where he meets a patent clerk with some very unusual theories about the nature of time. We chatted with Kuhlmann about why mice make irresistible protagonists, the challenges and pleasures of creating a complex time-travel story and what he has in common with his mousy heroes.

Could you tell us a little bit about the creative journey of this book?
Every story starts with a core idea or a theme. In the case of Einstein, the idea to link one of the most famous theoretical physicists with the shenanigans of a time-traveling mouse came first. From there, I developed the narrative surroundings of the idea. 

While in my research phase, many plot points seemed ideal for my premise of an Einstein-inspiring mouse. There was Einstein’s year of wonder in 1905, in which the young patent clerk wrote some of the most fundamental and revolutionary papers in theoretical physics. Where did his inspiration come from? Maybe from a mouse from the future? 

As soon as I have a rough outline of the plot ready, I start working on the storyboard. I do rough sketches for every page in the book. These sketches also play with different perspectives and compositions for each scene. 

As I craft the storyboard, I also start writing an early first draft, sometimes in rough handwriting next to the sketches. Once the storyboard is complete, I talk to my editor and tell her the story verbally. 

The next and most time-consuming phase is crafting the artwork and writing the script. For each illustration, I use a combination of watercolor and pencil.

Einstein is your fourth book to feature a mouse protagonist, after Lindbergh, Armstrong and Edison. What continues to pull you back to telling mouse stories?
There seems to be a never-ending well of opportunities to link real historical events with mouse-size adventures. When I began writing, mice seemed to play a role only in aviation and space exploration. Then I moved on to inventors, visiting an unknown backstory in Thomas Edison’s career. In Einstein, the adventurous mice landed in theoretical physics. It’s fun to link the stories with each other and to hide small Easter egg-like surprises and hints to earlier titles. There is a small interconnected universe evolving.

All of your mouse books explore scientific ideas and figures. Did you enjoy learning about science when you were young, or is this more of a way to learn about topics you’re not already knowledgeable about?
It is a little bit of both. I have always had a keen interest in science. I always wanted to learn how things work. Even today, I am still eager to learn new things. Working on my mouse adventures, with their science and history-oriented themes, allows me to dive into different very interesting topics, like Einstein’s concept of relativity.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Click here to read our starred review of Einstein.

There’s a tradition of mouse stories in English-language children’s literature, including Stuart Little, Mrs. Frisby and Ralph S. Mouse. Many of these mice have human characteristics, but your mice seem more . . . mousey. Why do you think children’s authors are drawn to these small creatures, and how did you decide that your mice wouldn’t just be like small humans with whiskers and a tail?
Indeed, mice seem to be favored characters in children’s literature. I grew up with many of these stories, but even as a child, I noticed that sometimes it seemed almost incidental that a mouse was the protagonist. For example, there is very little “mousiness” with a character like Mickey Mouse. Mickey is even taller than his dog, Pluto. 

One of the main reasons mice are so favored in children’s literature might be their cuteness. That was one of my main reasons for writing about them as well. But I wanted my main characters to be as little anthropomorphized as possible, to look like any mouse you might encounter in your attic or your garage. 

What was the most challenging part of creating Einstein? What was the most enjoyable?
The most challenging part of creating Einstein was figuring out how to tell a story about time travel and numerous causality loops while maintaining accessibility and keeping the narrative focus on the visuals. Much of the more complex ideas are only hinted at in the text and can be discovered by observing every detail in the illustrations. 

This challenge was simultaneously also the most enjoyable part. It was a joy to figure out how a time-traveling mouse, inspired by Einstein’s theories, could inspire Einstein in the first place, and how to mirror that plot with the more obvious story of a watch lost in the past and the fate of a furious cat.

You’ve mentioned that you’re a huge fan of science fiction films. Were any films a particular influence on Einstein—either on the story that you tell, or on your illustrations?
An eagle-eyed observer might find some nods to my favorite science fiction films. You may discover a hidden DeLorean or the TARDIS time machine from “Doctor Who.” Films or, to be more precise, the language of cinema plays an important role in my work. I sometimes describe my method by comparing it to the work of a cinematographer or a director. It is my task to shoot a scene, to tell something visually, finding the correct lighting, atmosphere and composition for each moment of a story. But I use a pencil and watercolors instead of a camera. Filmmaking is something I am very interested in, and I use every opportunity to direct short animations myself—for example, the book trailers for my mouse adventures.

In the beginning of Einstein, the mouse is looking forward to attending a cheese festival. What’s your favourite kind of cheese?
That is indeed something I have in common with my mouse adventurers: I really do like cheese. It is hard to point to one favorite kind. Among them are Italian pecorino, French Camembert and some Swiss cheeses.

I love the way you use perspective, and how so many scenes are shown from the mouse’s point of view. You must have periods when you try to imagine the world as though you were a mouse. If you woke up tomorrow to discover that you had become a mouse, what would you do? Where would you go?
I would try to follow in the footsteps of the protagonist of Lindbergh and build an airplane from scrap and odds and ends—just to fact-check my own story. And of course I would avoid cats and owls at any cost.

Self-portrait of Torben Kuhlmann courtesy of Torben Kuhlmann.